


Resistance

by Squeaky, Taste_is_Sweet



Series: Gifts [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X Company (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Crossover, F/M, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt René Villiers, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, OTP: Till the End of the Line, Oh wait we found him, Period-Typical Racist Language, Platonic Kissing, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective René Villiers, René Villiers Feels, Swearing, Where The Hell Is René?, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes and Resistance fighter René Villiers belong to the 10 percent of the world's population who have superhuman abilities, known as Gifts.</p><p>When their particular Talents cause them to be selected for human experimentation by Hydra, only their friendship can sustain them. That, and the slim hope of rescue.</p><p>It might not be enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resistance

**Author's Note:**

> [James "Bucky" Barnes](http://goo.gl/xhNu35) is the best friend of Steve Rogers, the superhero known as Captain America. His adventures are chronicled in Marvel's _Captain America_ and _Winter Soldier_ comics, and in the _Captain America_ movies.
> 
> René Villiers [(pictured with his girlfriend and X-Company teammate Aurora Luft)](http://goo.gl/NrUlzS) led a band of Canadian-trained resistance fighters in war-torn France. Although he went MIA after the pilot, the continuing adventures of René's team can be found [here](http://www.cbc.ca/xcompany/).
> 
> This fic is what we'd like to think happened to him.
> 
> This story belongs to a series that takes place mostly in the _Stargate: Atlantis_ universe. You don't need to read the others to understand this one, but we hope you will. :) You can find the whole series [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/14285) and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/14321).
> 
> Finally, hover over the French and German text for a translation. :)
> 
> * * *

_RESISTANCE:_  
_1a: an act or instance of resisting: opposition_  
_2: the power or capacity to resist_  
_3: an opposing or retarding force_  
_6: an underground organization of a conquered or nearly conquered country engaging in sabotage and secret operations_  
\--Merriam-Webster.com

* * *

The first time Steve Rogers met Peggy Carter, she was warning a new recruit named Hodges—who was built like a barn but three times as stupid—to keep his trap shut because he’d regret whatever he was going to say.

Peggy knew things. Her Gift made her intuitive; not the ordinary kind, like when moms knew their kids were being too quiet or why their husbands were coming home late, but the kind that meant you could make decisions on it. Because if Peggy knew something, it was true. She couldn’t always say _why_ she knew what she knew, but she was always right.

She’d taken one look at Steve and told Erskine: “He’s the one.”

At first, Steve didn’t know what she’d meant. He was scrawny and skinny and couldn’t breathe nearly as well as they were meant to run far, but she’d seen something, or maybe felt it, and she _knew._

Erskine had smiled, pleased as anything, and told Steve he’d been chosen for ‘Project Rebirth,’ whatever that meant. Steve had immediately agreed, because he liked Erskine, and he was half-sweet on Peggy and she’d chosen him. But most important, it sounded like his chance—maybe his only chance—to join the boys at the front and do something. 

Bucky was already there, and Steve’d do anything to get there, too.

A week later, he’d found out exactly what Erskine had meant by ‘Rebirth,’ and what Peggy had meant when she’d chosen him.

The procedure was brutal and painful and then even more painful and for the first time, despite all of his illnesses and injuries, Steve actually thought he was going to die.

But he didn’t.

He came out of the chamber taller and stronger and straighter and healthier than he’d ever been before. It truly was like he’d been reborn; into the body he should’ve always had.

“Oh, it worked,” Erskine said, just before Peggy pulled her gun. 

A second later the observation room exploded, and then a minute after that Steve had taken off after the Hydra spy. It was incredibly satisfying to bring him down for what he’d done to Erskine, and even more satisfying to feel the power and strength of his new body.

Peggy had arrived moments after the Hydra spy had bitten down on his cyanide pill. “Damn it,” Peggy swore. “I knew something bad would happen, but I thought it was about you.”

Steve wiped a tear off his face as he looked at the spy’s corpse, thinking of Erskine. “It was.”

* * *

“The soldiers were made to carry boxes and boxes of implements. Bringing in the instruments of their own destruction. We had all been forced to labour for nearly a year at this point, with little sleep and even less food. Those of us who had the dubious fortune to make it this far could only imagine the fate still awaiting us. Fate that was as stark as the cold gleam of the medical devices.”

“Shut the fuck up!” one of the black-helmeted guards shouted, punctuating his words with a swift blow from his truncheon across René’s shoulders.

René stumbled, almost dropping the box he was carrying, but managed to salvage his balance at the last second. The fastest way to a bullet in the head was to drop one of the boxes, and René wasn’t ready to die just yet. 

He had too many dispatches to file from the front. He needed to inform the Canadian public about the atrocities being committed in the POW camps. He needed to inform Camp-X about Hydra.

He needed to see Aurora again.

“Remember what happened last time you didn’t keep quiet?” the guard hissed in his ear. “I am more than ready to beat you again. Are you ready to take it?”

René shook his head quickly. It’d been hard enough for him to fake the level of injury the guards had expected the first time. “No, sir.” 

“Then keep your trap shut.” The guard hit him again, this time on his lower back, hard enough to make René’s knees buckle. “And hurry up!”

René nodded and adjusted his grip. He hadn’t realized he’d been speaking out loud. Again. He was doing that more and more often, speaking aloud the narration of his news stories in his head. He’d started it to keep himself sane and detached from the atrocities he continually witnessed, but it seemed that the cure was becoming the disease.

“Are you alright?” James Montgomery Falsworth murmured, coming up beside him. He quietly steadied the box in René’s shaking arms.

René nodded, not trusting himself to speak in case he couldn’t stop. 

“Buck up,” Monty said. “We’ve almost finished moving these bloody crates in for the bloody Jerries. I’m sure it will be resting and a pint soon enough!” He winked and gently nudged René with his shoulder. “It looked like they hit you fucking hard.” He kept his shoulder pressed into René’s for another moment. “You’re feeling off, Canuck. Are you quite alright?”

René laughed ruefully. “You’re _just_ sensing that now?” 

Monty winced. “Today feels like a bad day.” He eyed René. “Have they guessed about your Gift?”

This time René shook his head. “Not that any of the bastards’ve said. I think it was just a lucky blow.” He bit his tongue to keep himself from sliding back into the narration. The need to distance himself from what was going on was far too tempting. 

He didn’t like the feeling that he was slowly losing his mind.

“Good,” Monty said. “Better they don’t find out.”

They crossed the wide expanse of the brand-new factory, and all the empty cages for what René assumed would be for new prisoners. He and Monty and the other captives had been kept in the old building while forced to construct this new site. René shuddered to think about what their new ‘living quarters’ would be like. The old ones had been bad enough. 

And he was honestly terrified to know what the implements in the boxes were for. They were obviously medical, but nothing he would ever associate with healing. It made him that much more determined to keep his and Monty’s secrets. 

They mounted three long flights of stairs and moved down the hallway that lead to the older building. Just stepping onto the pitted concrete of the floor made René nervous. He’d been holed up here for over a year; it’d been the only prison he’d known since they’d dragged his half-drowned and bleeding body out of the river outside of Villemarie. He’d been flung into the prison with other resistance fighters and soldiers, and there’d been over 150 of them when he’d arrived in spring of ’42. Now there were less than fifty of the original group. René knew his Gift was the only reason he’d survived as long as he had. After watching so many brave men succumb to beatings and privation he’d begun to almost hate his Gift. He’d never asked for it and now it meant he lived while so many worthy men died. 

In their rare private moments, Monty had told him that feeling guilty for his survival served neither the dead nor the living and intellectually, René knew he was right. However in his heart it was hard to believe it. A twist of genetics, of fate, and he lived. It was brutally unfair. 

He’d started his mental narratives to chronicle what was occurring as a way to preserve the stories of his fellow soldiers. His responsibility as a journalist was now his reason for carrying on. However, at some point he’d lost the boundary between his thoughts and his words. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d found Monty or if Monty’d found him, but he was almost sure his continued survival had everything to do with the pragmatic British solider. Monty kept him focused on the big picture: staying strong; staying sane and getting the fuck out. Whenever René got lost in his own head, Monty pulled him back. 

Another thing that Monty had brought him was the friendship of Jacques Dernier. By the time Monty had shown up, René had lost more comrades than he could bear. He knew he’d withdrawn from the others and was beginning to lose hope. Dernier never lost hope and between his optimism and Monty’s wry humour, René had renewed his commitment to get through. 

“As much as it pleases me to know you like my humour, you’re thinking out loud again.”

“Fuck off, Monty.”

Monty flashed him a brief smile. “That’s the stuff.”

* * *

“New prisoners. They come,” Dernier said as he slid onto the upturned crate beside Monty and René. “ _Americans_.” He grinned at Monty. “For you I say in English.”

They were seated in a small semi-circle in the middle of the factory floor. Every day at exactly 12:15 some other prisoners came in with a giant tureen filled with what was laughably called soup. It was thin broth with the occasional mealy potato, slice of cabbage and sometimes a whole piece of chicken skin. It was served with chunks of coarse brown bread and nothing else. 

One of the reasons that René loved eating with Dernier was that his Gift meant they always got not only the best slop, but they also received the best gossip as soon as it began to circulate. Dernier made luck. Not a lot, but enough to make things a bit more bearable.

Monty was sitting so that his knee was touching René and his ankle was now brushing up against Dernier’s calf. It wasn’t much, but it was Monty’s way of keeping tabs on them both. He read emotions through contact, and these casual touches meant that he always knew when René or Denier needed bucking up.

“If you call that English,” Monty said to Dernier, taking a sip of his soup from his cup. He made a face. “I think I just ate a feather.”

Dernier laughed and slipped a piece of real chicken meat into each of their cups. Monty’s mouth fell open. 

“The chef was very grateful for my help cleaning the chickens this morning,” Dernier said to René in French. His shrug was pure Gallic. “How could I say no?”

René smiled as he translated for Monty. He’d grown up in Montreal and was fluent in both English and French, which had been vital to his role as a Resistance leader in France after the Nazis invaded. 

“Thanks, old chap,” Monty said to Dernier. “But what’s this about new prisoners?”

“You said Americans?” René asked. “Where were they captured?” Any information was like gold in this place, and Dernier was excellent at finding gold.

Dernier spoke in French. “North Italy,” he said with complete confidence. “I just happened to overhear when that pig of a guard was speaking to that other pig of a guard when I was carrying the chickens to the kitchen.” His grin widened. “Lucky. You know how it is.” 

René translated again, careful to keep his voice low.

“I only know how it is from you,” Monty said. “My Gift has sweet fuck all to do with luck. When are they arriving?”

“The food isn’t totally horrible today,” Dernier said. He took a spoonful of soup. “The prisoners are meant to come tomorrow or the day after.”

René felt the blood drain from his face. “Tomorrow?”

Monty looked up at him sharply. “You’re frightened.”

René swallowed. “Yes I am.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice still further. “You know why. You saw it when you first arrived. The Sniffer.”

Monty and Dernier shared a blank look. Monty raised his eyebrow. “Sniffer?”

René tilted his head. “Don’t you remember?” At his friends’ continued confusion he added, “The tall guy with the nose? And the way they dragged those men off…” He shuddered. 

“Non.” Dernier shook his head. “We must have missed it.”

“How could you’ve missed it?” René demanded in French. “All the new prisoners have to go through it. All of them!” 

“I remember seeing a tall pig in a Nazi uniform walking out of the building just as we arrived,” Dernier said. “Right before I twisted my ankle. We must have missed this ‘sniffing.’” 

“I rather expect I was being dragged off to be beaten at the time,” Monty said musingly after René translated. “I think it was for helping you, Jacques. It seemed to me to be wrong to shoot someone in the head merely for a turned ankle.” 

Dernier made a moue with his lips. “Lucky, heh?” He said in English. He grinned.

“You really are lucky,” René said. “That was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I’m still not sure why he didn’t find me.”

“Why _didn’t_ he find you?” Monty asked. “Our froggy friend hadn’t met you yet.”

Dernier made a face at Monty. “’Froggy’? Tu m'as vraiment appelé comme ça?”

“I don’t really know,” René sighed in answer to Monty’s question. “Maybe it was because the soldier they did find had a really dangerous Gift. It took them over an hour to put the fire out.” He spread his hands. “Maybe the smoke dulled the Sniffer’s senses.”

“And what happened to the fire-starter?” Monty asked. 

René shook his head. “They shot him.”

“Damn,” Monty exhaled. 

“Maudit cochons,” Dernier added. 

Monty slapped René comfortingly on the thigh. “Don’t worry, chum. You stick with us and this ‘Sniffer’ won’t find you.”

René shrugged and took a sip of his soup. “That won’t help the Americans.”

* * *

“Oh, fuck this,” Bucky murmured. They’d just crested a hill—him and the 200 other unlucky bastards who hadn’t dropped dead yet out of the remains of the 107th and whatever other company the Germans had nabbed on their way into Austria. 

Bucky was hungry, tired, sore and pissed off, and now he was walking towards some God-awful building that looked like a prison had sex with Dracula’s castle and this was their bastard offspring.

Gabe swallowed audibly beside him. “We’re gonna die in there.”

Dum Dum kicked the side of his foot – gently for Dum Dum. “Shut the fuck up, Jonesy. We ain’t dying.”

“I’m gonna kill you both if you don’t shut up,” Bucky growled. “You’ve been yapping for three damn days. This here place? At least it’ll be dry on the inside. Think about that before you keep on your bellyaching.”

“I’m not bellyaching,” Gabe said. “I just know we’re going to die.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “If I’m lucky maybe they’ll kill me first.”

“Fuck that,” Dum Dum said. “Then you’re little friend Steve’ll cry. I can’t deal with man-tears.”

Bucky checked to make sure no guards were watching and then smacked Dum Dum on the back of the head. “Firstly, Steve don’t cry for nothing. And secondly, shut the fuck up.”

“Steve’d cry for you,” Gabe said sagely. “If only because he’d be so happy he wouldn’t get your barely literate letters anymore. If I have to tell you the difference between ‘you’re’ and ‘your’ one more time…”

Bucky grinned to himself. He’d hated to hear Gabe sound so afraid and now he was nicely distracted. 

“Maybe if you were a better teacher—“

“Haltet die Fresse!” the guard screamed at them. 

Dum Dum shot him a dirty look. “Yeah, yeah, Fritzie. How ‘bout you just shut your mouth,” he mumbled.

The guard returned Dum Dum’s glare, but then turned away. Not for the first time, Bucky was really happy that Dum Dum was so fucking large. 

Their conversation had taken them down the hill, and now they were marched through the menacing gates, across the open courtyard and into the newer of the two buildings. They were taken down a wide corridor filled with rows of round cages on both sides, covered with a barred ceiling. Most of the cages were empty. The few that weren’t held men who watched the new captives enter with shadowed, dispirited eyes. The prisoners were thin, ragged and filthy, and they _reeked._ Bucky had spent the last four months with his squad in and out of the front, and the last three days on a forced march, and both had involved more sweat than soap. But this was the worst stench that Bucky had ever been assaulted with. And he’d worked on the docks. 

“Oh my God,” Gabe whispered. “This is a labour camp.”

“They don’t do that to soldiers!” Dum Dum said. He looked worriedly at Bucky. “Do they?”

“Looks like.” Bucky grimaced.

As they went by the occupied cages, Bucky couldn’t help but stare at the other prisoners, wondering how long they’d been there and how long it’d be until he looked like them. One of them held his gaze. His eyes were shadowed in the unreal bluish light, and looked lost in a way Bucky couldn’t define. The man’s hair might’ve been dark or just darkened with grease, and he was too thin and too pale and looked like a stiff breeze might knock him over. But he was still startlingly good looking, with fine, even features that reminded Bucky of the pure symmetry of Steve’s face. The man nodded at him, a small gesture of courage and solidarity in this awful place. Bucky nodded back, but then looked away before someone noticed that he was noticing.

And then Bucky was shoved into his own cage, hard enough to make him stumble. Gabe and Dum Dum ended up beside him, as well as another guy with a badge showing he wasn’t from the 107th. They all whirled as the door shut behind them with a solid clang.

“I think we’re gonna die,” the new guy murmured. 

“Shut up,” Gabe said. 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

* * *

“Are the bars moving?” Bucky’s head was half-turned towards Dum Dum, the rest of his focus squarely on the guards, making sure they weren’t paying attention. 

“Yeah,” Dum Dum panted as he pulled against the bars. “But they’re tough. Gonna take a while.”

“We don’t got a while,” Bucky hissed back. “C’mon, use that super power.”

“You wanna do it?” Dum Dum grunted. “Oh wait, you might break a nail.”

“’Least it’d grow back fast,” Gabe murmured.

“Fuck the both of you.” Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky noticed a Hydra goon walking swiftly over to a couple of guards near the door. He said something, too far away for Bucky to make out. Whatever it was, the guards jerked to attention like they had puppet strings and someone had yanked on them. Quickly he smacked Dum Dum on his broad back. “Stop, stop!”

Dum Dum immediately let go of the bars and turned around, leaning against them with forced casualness. “What’s up, Sarge?”

“Dunno,” Bucky murmured. “Looks like someone’s coming.”

Gabe, Dum Dum, Bucky and the greenhorn—his name was Diego—all crowded around the curved side of the cage closest to the action. A short, round little man with glasses wearing an immaculate white lab coat came in, accompanied by a broad-shouldered, tall man with the clear air of authority. His uniform was stupidly ornate just like all the Nazi brass, but even if he’d been naked, it would’ve still been obvious he was in charge. 

With them was another man, taller than the Commandant but rail thin. Everything about him was thin: his arms, his neck, the hair on his head and his overly-large nose. He should’ve looked comical. Instead he looked terrifying, like a scarecrow out of a horror comic. 

“What’s going on?” The greenhorn whispered. “Who _is_ that guy?”

“No one good,” Gabe whispered back. “Look at everyone else.”

It was true. All the prisoners who’d been there longer had stood immediately when the scarecrow entered. Now they were clustered at the back of their cells as if trying to hide behind each other. 

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered. “What the Hell is this?”

The three Nazis strode imperiously towards the first in the line of cages. Surprisingly it was the Commandant and the scientist who stepped back and let the scarecrow go ahead of them. He stopped at the cage door, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. 

“Is he _smelling_ them?” Dum Dum asked. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my God,” Gabe breathed. “I know what that is.”

Everybody in their cage turned to look at him. 

“What is it?” Diego asked in a hushed whisper. “What’s going on?”

“The first girl I met in French class at Howard could do that,” Gabe said. “Anyone Gifted would make her sneeze. I’ll betcha anything that’s what that guy’s doing.”

“He’s fucking _smelling_ us to see who’s Gifted?” Dum Dum demanded. “Why?”

“I don’t wanna know,” Bucky said, not taking his eyes off the drama unfolding before them. The Sniffer had shaken his head and went on to the next cage on the opposite side. The four prisoners he’d left behind nearly collapsed on each other in relief. 

In that cage, the Sniffer pointed and two guards went in and pulled a guy out, standing him a few feet away, with another guard who trained his gun on him. 

The Commandant went up to him. “What is your Gift?” he said in nearly perfect English. His voice was loud enough to easily carry across the room.

The man was visibly shaking. “I-I don’t want to turn it on.”

“But you must,” The Commandant said silkily. “You don’t want to disappoint your audience.”

“I c-can’t c-control it,” he stuttered in fear. “I’ll freeze everything.”

“What a pity.” The Commandant pulled out his sidearm and shot him.

“Holy _fuck!_ ” Bucky exclaimed. He whirled to Gabe and Dum Dum. “What the fuck are we gonna do?”

“You heard the guy. It’s dangerous Gifts. Uncontrolled,” Gabe whispered very fast. “I’m just a Cypher. You Heal. Dum Dum’s just really strong. They won’t kill us.” He sounded like he wasn’t even convincing himself.

“I can project energy blasts.” Diego wrung his hands. “I haven’t done it here ‘cause I’m really powerful and I don’t wanna hurt anyone. But if they know, they’ll kill me.” His brown eyes were very large.

“Jesus H. Christ.” Bucky scrubbed his face with his hands. “Okay, Diego. Get behind me.”

“Whatever we’re gonna do, you’d better tell us quick, Sarge,” Dum Dum whispered. “They’ve cleared four more cages. They’re almost here!” 

“Shut up! Let me think.” 

In the cage opposite them, the dark-haired man Bucky had noticed seemed to be having a vehement argument with a man in a blue shirt and another man in a British Army uniform, over a third guy who was dressed like an American solider but looked like a Jap. The Sniffer moved towards them, like a cat on a mouse.

* * *

“I think we’re shit out of luck, boys,” Monty muttered as they all crowded to the back of the cell. 

“What’s going on?” Jim Morita, the new American prisoner, asked anxiously. “What’s that ugly fucker doing?”

“He’s a Sniffer,” René said succinctly. “He finds Gifted through our smell.”

“Holy fucking Christ,” Jim swore. “What do they do with them?”

“We’re not sure,” Monty said. “Nothing good.”

“Are any of you Gifted?” Jim whispered urgently. “Because I sure as fuck am and I don’t wanna be taken!”

“We all are, actually,” Monty said. “I hope you don’t intend to offer us up to save yourself?” He raised an eyebrow.

Jim’s eyes widened. “Are you fucking nuts? We’re on the same side, ace!”

“Just clarifying,” Monty said. 

“He’s coming,” Dernier said in French. René didn’t bother to translate; it was far too obvious what he’d meant. Dernier then grabbed Monty’s wrist and put his other hand on René’s hip. “I’ll protect you. Maybe we’ll get lucky, eh?” His smile was weak.

“What’re you doing?” Jim asked. “Are you going invisible or something? Because I can still see you.”

“No,” René whispered tersely. “Jacques’ Gift makes luck. It’s saved our asses a few times. If we’re lucky it’ll work again.”

“Okay,” Jim said, moving closer to René. “What do I do? Wish real hard?”

René grabbed Jim’s wrist. “It couldn’t hurt.”

They stood like that a few moments, until René felt Dernier’s hand start to tremble against his hip.  
Monty licked his lips. “Dernier, what’s the problem?”

Dernier gasped. “Four. It is too much. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Shit!” René spat. The Sniffer was almost right in front of them. “Here!” He stepped away from Dernier and shoved Jim’s wrist into Dernier’s hand. “Protect him.”

“What?” Monty exclaimed. “You bloody idiot!”

“Hush,” René said. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be dead!” Monty said. “They kill Gifted!”

“What’s he doing?” Jim asked. “Wait! No—“

The Sniffer was right there.

“I have Wound Resistance,” René said immediately, stepping forward. He thought of Aurora, hoping she’d understand. “I’m the only Gifted one in here.”

The little scientist tilted his head, considering. “Wound Resistance,” he repeated. “That could work.”

* * *

“You’re not gonna do _that,_ are you?” Dum Dum was staring incredulously at the cage across from them, where the dark-haired guy had just stepped forward and was now being marched next to the corpse of the Gifted soldier. Bucky didn’t even know the guy, but his heart clenched.

“Believe me,” he said to Dum Dum through gritted teeth. “I ain’t gonna go that quiet.”

“That sounds bad,” Gabe said.

“That sounds _stupid_.” Dum Dum stared at Bucky. “What the hell you plannin’, Sarge?”

Bucky gave a sharp shake of his head. “Shut up. He’s coming. Everyone get way back.”

“I could blast ‘em,” Diego said. “But I might kill the rest of us.”

“I don’t got a problem with that if we take that asshole down, too,” Dum Dum said.

“Shut up!” Bucky hissed at all of them. “Get back already!”

Everyone finally did what he said and crowded at the back of the cage just as the scarecrow stopped in front of them. He narrowed his beady eyes then stepped closer.

Bucky moved forward, then reached through the bars and grabbed the scarecrow by his too-wide collar. He yanked him so hard into the metal that the _clang_ echoed around the room. The scarecrow dropped like a brick, blood gushing from the wreck of his nose.

“You fucking idiot!” Dum Dum said as the guards ripped open the cage door. 

Bucky leapt out fighting before his friends could move. He attacked both guards with the frenzy born of total desperation. But he made sure to kick the door closed so Dum Dum or Gabe couldn't follow his lead.

“ _You fucking idiot!_ ” Dum Dum screamed after him. He rattled the cage bars hard enough to make them creak. 

“Stop!” Bucky screamed back. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to recognize Dum Dum’s Gift. Not when he’d made this sacrificial play to protect them.

Gabe got it and pulled Dum Dum away. And then Bucky was too busy getting the shit beat out of him to pay attention.

After the fifth (or sixth or seventh?) crack against his skull, all the fight left him. Bucky was dumped on the floor like a bleeding sack of dirt.

“Kill him,” the Commandant ordered. He gestured at the Sniffer. “And get him off the floor.” Two of the guards moved to grab the Sniffer’s unconscious body. One pulled his gun and pointed it at Bucky’s head.

Bucky grinned with teeth he knew were coated in blood. It wasn't the way he wanted to go, but if it meant he’d bought his men one more day, he’d take it. 

His only regret would be that he’d never get to say good-bye to Steve. Or finally tell the little punk he loved him. At least he was safe in Brooklyn.

“Wait,” the short scientist said, peering at him through his glasses. “Why isn't he unconscious?”

The Commandant looked at the scientist from over his shoulder, and then turned to face him. “What do you mean, Zola?”

“I mean,” Zola said, crouching low enough to examine Bucky’s face. “You were beaten very hard, and yet you are not completely incapacitated. Why is that?” 

Bucky spat a mouthful of blood. “Maybe your guys are just pansy-assed.”

Zola looked vaguely amused. “Or maybe it is something else.” He skuttled around Bucky, still crouched like a crab. It made Bucky feel like Zola was a snake inspecting a rodent. “Are you Gifted, perhaps?”

“What’s it to ya?” Bucky grimaced. His Healing Gift worked pretty fast, but the beating had been rough. He thought maybe his arm was broken, and for sure a couple of ribs were. And probably his skull. He’d have loved to jump up and punch the little scientist in his fat face, but that wasn't gonna happen for a while. 

“Oh, not much to me,” Zola said, still peering at him intently. “But it may be something to you. If you’re not Gifted, I’ll have my men shoot you right now. If you are…” he trailed off. 

“Shoot me,” Bucky snarled. “I don’t give a shit.”

“I’m getting weary of this,” the Commandant said. “If he won’t tell you, shoot his comrades until his tongue is loosened. But either way, be done.”

“As you wish, mien Kommandant,” Zola said. He gestured at the cage where Dum Dum, Gabe and Diego were staring in horror. “Guards—“

“I’m Gifted,” Bucky said immediately. “I have Healing powers. I can heal!”

“Healing powers?” Zola titled his head. “That could work. Put him with the other one.”

* * *

Steve hated being a dancing monkey.

He’d never been able to travel before. He and his mom were too poor, or he was too sick, or both. But hitting a new town every two days wasn’t his idea of travel anyway. And he couldn’t see much except for the back of the stage and the inside of his hotel room. 

It certainly didn’t make for interesting letters to send to Bucky. Even though he didn’t know if Bucky ever got them. 

God, Steve missed him. It was like everything reminded him of Bucky, too: the way the stage hand’s shoulders moved when he lifted something heavy; the way Allison, one of the girl’s on the tour, would smile. Even the smell of the cigarettes everyone smoked was like a constant ache in Steve’s chest. 

He hoped that his continued good behavior meant that he’d finally be sent to the front lines. To use his new body as a weapon rather than a prop. But so far, no go. If he had to punch Hitler one more time, he thought he’d go bananas. He smiled ruefully. Monkeys ate bananas.

Steve stretched his legs out in front of him, planning to get comfortable with his sketchbook while he waited for the stage hands to get everything set up for their pre-show run through. It wasn’t like he didn’t have every line and move memorized by now, but the practice never hurt and it helped to keep him busy. 

He’d just started yet another drawing of Bucky, this time from a memory when they were kids, when Senator Brandt approached. 

Steve stood. “Senator! I wasn’t expecting to see you until next week.”

“At ease, Captain.” Brandt smirked. “I just wanted to come to tell you to pack your bags after the show.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re heading overseas.”

“I’m going to the front?” Steve’s heart sped up in his chest. “I’m going to get to fight?”

“Against boredom, sure!” The senator grinned at him. “Nothing like a true American hero to cheer up our troops.” 

Steve’s heart plummeted. “Right.”

“You’ll love it,” Brandt said. “We’re going to Italy. I hear it’s nice this time of year.”

“Right,” Steve said again. He sighed.

* * *

They’d been taken to one of the cells in the old building, and René felt like he was going to be sick.

The American had passed out almost before they dropped him on the floor. He’d landed hard enough to knock himself out and he hadn’t moved since, not even when René had dragged him over to the far wall and laid him on his side as comfortably as he could.

There were no cots in this cell. No creature comforts of any kind beyond a filthy bucket in the corner for human waste and a tap for water that smelled like mud and dripped constantly. The walls were raw red brick and there was a single, small window in the door that let in no natural light. The door was hinged on the opposite side, and the whole room felt like an office that had been reused for more nefarious purposes. 

It was damp and cold and the round cages in the new building had felt like a luxury hotel in comparison. And now he was back. 

He almost wished the Nazis had just shot him. 

Before they’d been taken here, he’d heard the American admit to having a Healing Gift. René sorely hoped it was working now. The American looked to be in rough shape. There was dried blood on one of his ears and more around his mouth and on his chin. His breathing hitched like it hurt. He was terribly pale. 

“Shut up,” René murmured to himself. He’d been speaking out loud again, narrating what he saw like he was writing a dispatch to _The Globe and Mail_. He really had to stop that. 

He ran his hands through his hair as he paced, wincing at the greasy feeling. He was full of nervous energy, too upset to stay still. He really didn’t want to die in here. He didn’t want to be sharing the cell with a corpse.

That thought prompted him to go check on the man again.

The solider was still breathing, and his pulse felt steady and strong. Amazingly enough he’d regained some colour in the short time they’d been left alone. If it was his Gift, then it was truly remarkable.

“You might live after all,” René muttered and patted the American on his shoulder before standing again. He continued his pacing, wishing he had something else to do. 

He started composing a letter to Aurora in his head. Something light and happy and completely different from what he was really experiencing. He bit his tongue to make sure he didn’t end up saying it out loud. 

“Quit your pacing, will ya? It’s giving me a headache.”

René whirled. The American was looking at him blearily, his blue eyes heavy-lidded but alert.

“Calisse!” René swore. “You’re awake!”

“Looks like,” the solider said. He groaned and raised himself up on one elbow. “Give a guy a hand?”

René went over and helped him sit against the wall. “How badly are you hurt?” 

“Bad. But I’ve had worse. I’ll get over it.” 

“You Heal,” René said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yep.” The American nodded tiredly. He slid a glance at René. “You?”

“Wound Resistance,” René said. “It takes a lot to hurt me.”

“Lucky.” The American smirked. “Must be nice.”

“Not as nice as not getting beat up in the first place,” René said. “Here,” he went to the tap and carefully brought the American back some water cupped in his hands. “Sorry, no glasses.”

The solider drank. “What kind of hotel is this?” He chuffed out a laugh. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” René brought him another palm-full and then sat down beside him. “What’s your name?”

“James Barnes,” he replied. “But everyone calls me Bucky.”

“René Villiers,” René said. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “So, you a Frog? I mean, from France?”

René smirked. “Canadian. From Montreal.”

“Nice.” Bucky nodded. “I’ve always wanted to visit there. I’m from New York myself. Brooklyn.”

“I love New York,” René said. “One of the world’s great cities.” He sighed. “I’d like to think I’ll see it again.”

“I’ll take you on a tour once the war’s over,” Bucky said. “And then you can show me Montreal.” He closed his eyes. “Fuck, I’m beat.”

“Your Gift?” René said, knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed. “Not dying takes a lot outta ya.”

René made a noise in agreement. “Unfortunately they haven’t fed us.”

Bucky cracked an eye open. “So they’re _gonna_ feed us?”

“Yes,” René said after a moment. “But I wouldn’t get too excited.”

“I’m sure they’ll need us alive for whatever they want us for.” Bucky paused. “Right?”

“I hope,” René said. “At least I hope I hope.” 

Bucky chuckled mirthlessly. “You can’t tell with these fucking Krauts.” He yawned. “God, I’m wiped.”

“Go ahead and lean on me if you want to sleep,” René said, moving so that he was close enough for Bucky to put his head on his shoulder. “I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“Thanks,” Bucky sighed. He leaned his head on René’s shoulder. “You really don’t mind?” He sounded half-asleep already.

“I don’t mind,” René confirmed. “Go to sleep.”

“’kay,” Bucky mumbled. “Thanks, Steve.” He patted René clumsily and then was asleep. 

René smiled to himself, wondering who this ‘Steve’ was. Maybe Bucky had a brother. He hoped that Bucky would get to see him again. 

It made him think of his team. Neil and Harry and Tom, and especially Aurora. God he missed them. He hoped that they were alive and okay. Safe. 

He closed his eyes and tried to join Bucky in slumber. Whatever the Nazis had planned, he knew he would need his strength.

* * *

“The cell is approximately twenty feet long by ten feet wide. There are no accommodations other than a bucket and a broken tap that drips brown water that smells of mud. I can only assume that we’re to be kept here until our resistance is lowered, but I don’t know to what end. If they want to beak us to gather information, why didn’t they attempt to do so when I was first captured? It’s been over a year, but this is the first time I’ve been separated from the other prisoners. Maybe the arrival of the scientist heralds—“

“Who’re you talking to?” Bucky asked groggily. He’d been woken up by René’s quiet murmuring.

René shut up immediately. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I-it’s,” he sighed. “Merde.”

Bucky sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He still felt like crap. His arm hurt and so did his head. His ribs were killing him, but for sure they felt better than before. His stomach growled. “How long was I out?”

“No idea. It’s hard to tell the passage of time in here.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Bucky said, looking around. “There’re no windows to the outside.”

“It was the same when I was first here,” René said. “They leave the lights on all the time.” He shuddered. “I hate this place.”

“It’s kinda growing on me,” Bucky said, and then smirked at the horrified look René shot him. 

René laughed lightly. “Jerk.”

The smile fell off Bucky’s face. God he missed Steve.

“They did bring us food while you were asleep,” René said. He made a face. “If you can call it that.” He handed Bucky a battered tin cup and a piece of bread that had been sitting on his lap. The soup was weak and cold and nearly flavourless, and the bread couldn’t be eaten without being soaked in the soup first, but Bucky ate it ravenously. He was still hungry when he finished, but at least his stomach shut up.

“So,” he said after he’d wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “You army? Did the Krauts take your uniform or something?”

René shook his head. “I was working in Paris as a journalist. Writing articles for the _Globe and Mail_ and the _Montreal Gazette_. When the war broke out I decided to stay and join the Resistance.” He shrugged. “And here I am.”

“And here we are,” Bucky echoed. “I got drafted. Way less heroic.”

“I saw what you did downstairs. Looked pretty heroic to me.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked in a smile. “Always been dumb that way, I guess.” He eyed René. “You’ve really been here a year?”

“You heard that?” René winced in embarrassment, then nodded. “Yes. I was captured in the spring of '42. I was shot while my team was blowing up a bridge to keep the Nazis from massacring a village. We got the bridge, but the Nazis got me.” He sighed deeply. “I hope my team’s okay. I don’t even know if they know I’m alive.”

“If they know about your Gift, they’ll know you’re alive,” Bucky said reassuringly. 

René shrugged yet again. “It’s been over a year. I don’t think they do.”

“They wouldn’t forget you,” Bucky insisted. “I know Steve never would.”

“Maybe.” René didn’t sound like he really believed it. “Is Steve your brother?”

Bucky knew a diversion tactic when he heard one, but he answered the question anyway. “No. Well, not by blood, anyhow.” He grinned, smiling at the memory of the little runt the way he always did. “I met Steve when we were kids. He’d gotten into a fight—he’s always getting into fights, he hates bullies, right? So he’s always shooting his mouth off when he figures someone’s being a jerk to someone else—so, yeah. He was getting the shit beat outta him and I heard the ruckus and saw this teeny little boy about to get his ass handed to him. And I figured it was a buncha assholes picking on a little kid. But it wasn’t. Steve was eight. He was just small for his age. Still is, really. They’d been mouthing off to some girl and Steve didn’t like it, so he tried to make ‘em apologize.”

René looked like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or be concerned. “So you stepped in to help?”

“Yup.” Bucky nodded. “Waded right in and started throwing punches. And afterwards, when I’m standing there with a black eye and split knuckles, know what he said?" Bucky chuckled, remembering. “’I had ‘em on the ropes.’”

René laughed with him. “He sounds great.”

“He’s a jerk.” Bucky smiled. “But I love him.”

“I can see that,” René said. “Was he drafted too?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. Steve’s small and sickly. He’s got asthma, scoliosis, high blood pressure… He’s always getting sick. He would’ve joined up though. He even talked about running away to Canada back in '39. I told him the Canucks wouldn’t be that desperate.”

René smiled. “He sounds like he’d make a good soldier.”

“He’s more stubborn than smart.” Bucky nodded. “But he couldn’t get past the recruiters. The reason I didn’t join up right away was because Steve’s mom died right before the U.S. joined the war. He had no one to look after him, ‘cept me. Well, he has no one now, I guess. I’m here.” Bucky’s smile faltered. 

“I’m sorry.”

“He’ll be okay. He’s tough,” Bucky said, trying to believe it. He shifted, then winced. “Fucking ribs.”

“You alright?” René asked. “You were beaten pretty badly…”

“My arms almost healed, and the ribs’re better,” Bucky said. “I should be right as rain by morning. Well, except for the lack of food.”

René thinned his lips. “They’re not much on feeding their prisoners. Or letting us rest.”

“I figured,” Bucky agreed. “The marching for three days straight was kind of a tip off.”

René frowned. “Bastards.”

“No fooling.” They drifted into silence. Bucky yawned. He was still exhausted from the aftereffects of the marching, the beating and his recovery. He started to let his eyes drift shut.

“Her name’s Aurora,” René said softly. 

Bucky opened his eyes. “Your girl?”

René nodded. “Yeah.” He lapsed into silence again.

Bucky just wanted to sleep. But René looked like the last thing he needed was more quiet. “What’s she like?” 

“Beautiful,” René said with a smile. “Inside and out. Strong, smart. Far too good for the likes of me.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Ain’t they all, pal.”

“She’s French, of course, from Quebec. But I met her in Paris. She’s a journalist too. We joined the Resistance together.” René’s voice dropped. “Her father’s a German Jew. I’m worried about her.”

“Sounds like she can take care of herself,” Bucky said, hoping he sounded reassuring. “Smart girl like that? She’s fine.”

“I hope so,” René sighed. “She has a good team. Good men. One of them’s a Yank. Like you.”

Bucky smirked. “Then she’s definitely fine. We Yanks are a scrappy bunch.”

“Even when you’re years late to the party.” René nudged his shoulder.

“Fuck off, Canuck.” Bucky nudged him back. “Maybe we’re better at picking our fights.”

“Like your buddy Steve?” René grinned at him. “Then we’re all doomed.”

Bucky laughed then winced again. “Ow! Ribs.”

“Go to sleep,” René said. He gently grabbed Bucky’s head and put it on his shoulder. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Thanks, Pal,” Bucky sighed. “And I might actually sleep if you don’t wake me with your talking again.”

“Better than your snoring,” René replied.

“Punk,” Bucky muttered. His eyes closed.

* * *

René woke to the screech of the cell door opening. 

“Whatthefuck?” Bucky woke with a start, already half-way to his feet.

“Don’t!” René commanded, slapping his hand on Bucky’s chest and forcing him to sit back down. “You don’t want to volunteer for this. Trust me.”

“What?” Bucky said, his eyes now painfully alert.

René stood as the two guards entered the cell, both with their guns pointed, one at each prisoner. 

The first guard pointed at him. “You.”

René nodded. 

“No!” Bucky started, but René shot him a warning glare. 

“Save your strength,” René ordered him. “I’m sure you’ll need it.”

Before Bucky could reply the first guard grabbed René’s arm and pulled him out of the cell. They were gone down the corridor so fast that René didn’t even get a chance to look back.

René forced himself to pay attention to the route. He looked for exits and the number of guards, focusing on the tricks his Camp-X training had taught him rather than the way his heart was pounding or the blood was racing through his veins. 

They marched him down a second hallway that had numerous doorways, all with frosted glass windows. All closed. They took him to a much larger room that looked like a cross between an accountant’s office and a medical ward. There was a desk strewn with files and blueprints and a map of Europe pinned to the wall above it.

But the part that was truly terrifying was the stretcher with the straps and the glass cabinets with the medical instruments. These were the implements that were in the crates he and the other prisoners had been forced to bring into the older building after constructing the new one. And now they were going to be used on him.

Even worse was the way that the little scientist smiled at René when he was brought in.

“Hello, Mr. Villiers,” the scientist said, “My name is Doctor Arnim Zola. I’m sure we’ll get to know each other quite well over the next several months.” His smile widened. “Provided you survive that long.” He gestured at the stretcher. “Please.” 

The guards immediately brought René over to the stretcher and tried to force him down on it. René had left the cell peacefully in order to keep Bucky from intervening; but now all bets were off. 

He fought with all the skill he’d been taught at Camp-X, using every dirty trick Neil had ever shown him. He kicked and punched and even bit when the guards got too close. They fought back, and there were two of them, but a Gift of Wound Resistance had its advantages. René was able to struggle out of their grip, then knock out one guard and stagger the other. Then he ran like hell.

He got as far as the first stairwell before he was shot.

René pitched forward with the impact, pain searing up his leg from where the bullet had buried itself in his right thigh. He'd managed to make it up to one foot when the guards grabbed him and dragged him back.

They strapped him down with his blood dripping in rapid beats on to the floor. He felt sick from fear and pain and the crashing of adrenaline as he tumbled into shock.

Zola tutted over René as he sliced off his pant leg. He took a long pair of forceps and stabbed them into the wound, ignoring René’s gasp of pain. He fished around long enough that René thought he was going to throw up before Zola made a pleased humming noise and yanked out the bullet. René screamed. The bullet went into a stainless steel dish with a small clang. 

“What a waste of your energy that escape attempt was,” Zola said. “Now what I’m going to do will cost you so much more.” He gestured to a guard, and the Nazi rammed a handful of sugar pills into René’s mouth. He held René’s jaw shut until he had to swallow or choke. 

“You’ll never break me,” René spat. There was sugar and saliva running out of the corner of his mouth. His voice trembled.

Zola looked at him, confused. “Break you? The only information I want from you is in your body.” He cut off René’s sleeve and jabbed an IV into his inner arm. His smile was warm. “This will hurt.”

René wasn’t sure when he started screaming, but it seemed like days before his voice finally gave out.

* * *

“Jesus Christ!” Bucky scrambled to his feet as the guards dragged René’s limp body back into the cell. One of the guards immediately swung his gun towards him and Bucky stopped in his tracks, hands up. “We’re all friends here, Fritzie.” he said.

The guard sneered at him but stepped aside to let the other two guards drop René like a rag doll on the floor. René didn’t stir and Bucky couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. Bucky stood there with his teeth clenched until the guards moved their fat asses and left. 

Immediately Bucky dropped to his knees beside him. “René!” He stabbed two fingers against René’s neck, searching for any signs of life. He felt it, faint and weak. But it was there.

“Fuck me.” Bucky sagged back on his heels and wiped his face. He’d only known René for a few hours but already he couldn’t stand the thought of the man dying. 

Carefully, Bucky dragged René closer to the wall and sat down, maneuvering René until his head was pillowed on Bucky’s thigh. He checked René’s body with his eyes, taking in the missing sleeve and pant leg and the bandages replacing them. There was dried blood on the gauze covering the back of his thigh, and a few drops on the one wrapped around his elbow. 

“What the fuck did they do to you?” Bucky murmured. He touched René’s neck again and was grateful to feel his heartbeat pulsing against his fingertips, stronger than before. He started carding his fingers through René’s hair, remembering all the times he’d done the same for Steve when his friend was so sick that there was nothing for Bucky to do but sit with him and pray. 

He was praying now.

* * *

René twitched.

Bucky snapped awake, banging the back of his head against the stone wall hard enough to bruise. “Fuck!”

He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but he was so damn tired he couldn’t help it. The fact that the fucking Krauts hadn’t brought them any more food didn’t help any. He already felt like his stomach was trying to crawl into his spine.

“Aurora?” René croaked. He said something else in French which Bucky had no hope of translating. René’s voice was a mess.

“Sorry, pal, just me,” Bucky said, giving his shoulder a pat.

“Bucky?” René opened his eyes. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Bucky said, helping René to sit up. “Where’d they take you?”

René put his face in his hands, small tremors rippling through him. He started listing slowly to one side and Bucky gently set him upright.

“A room. Down the hall and to the right. Medical. There was a stretcher. And they strapped me down and—and—“ He stopped talking.

“It’s okay,” Bucky soothed. “You can tell me later.”

René nodded, he took his hands away from his face. “They put an IV in me,” he went on. “With some kind of chemical. It burned.” The way René’s face looked told Bucky far more than his clinical words. It hadn’t just ‘burned;’ it had been agony. 

“What happened to your leg?” Bucky winced as he asked. He got up and fetched René some water in his hands. 

René drank gratefully. “They shot me when I tried to run.” His voice sounded marginally better.

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed. He got more water and held his hands carefully so René could drink. “I thought you were Wound Resistant?” he asked when René had finished.

“I am,” René said. “At that close range the bullet would've likely shattered the bone in my leg."

"Did your Gift help with...the other stuff they did to you?" Bucky said.

René nodded grimly. "I don’t think I would’ve survived without it.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky sat back down, feeling like he legs couldn’t support him. “What’s gonna happen to me?” 

“They might not do the same thing to you,” René said. 

“Maybe.” Bucky swallowed. “Maybe it’ll be worse.” 

René shuddered. “God help us both if they have worse.”

“Well you can rock me to sleep tonight.” Bucky tried to laugh. 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” René said. “ _You_ have to get out of here. I don’t want them to hurt you like that.” René’s voice cracked on the words.

“Whoa, whoa!” Bucky exclaimed. He patted René’s shoulder. “It’s all or none, buddy. I ain’t leaving without you. Or my guys. It’s all or nothing.”

René looked like he was about to protest, but then he nodded. “I have guys back there, too. Friends. I won’t leave them either.”

“So what’d we do?” Bucky asked. “You make any plans to get us out of here in the last two minutes?

René smirked weakly. “Not really.”

“Me neither,” Bucky sighed. He looked around. The cell was still as barren and cold as ever. “Maybe we could turn on the tap and flood the place?”

That got a small laugh like Bucky’d hoped. “Keep trying.”

“Play dead?” 

“I don’t think they’d care.”

“No, no,” Bucky said, excited. “It could actually work! Like…” He stood up. “You can look, well, like you did when you first came back, and I’ll scream blue murder. When they come in to check on you, I’ll bash in their fucking skulls.” He grinned. “Too easy?”

René looked at him. “Too ridiculous. They’d never fall for that! Plus, they have guns.” 

Bucky scowled. “Fuck you, Canuck. Then you think of something.”

René rubbed his face. “I wish Harry were here. He’d build us a tank out of the tap and bucket. Or Neil. He’d just fight his way out. Tom could talk us all out of here.” He smiled sadly. “Aurora would make them think the cell was already empty.”

“If your team were all here we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place,” Bucky said. He sat back down. "Those Gifts sound pretty useful.”

“Oh yes,” René agreed. “Aurora’s a Chameleon. She can fit in anywhere, or make people think she’s not there at all. Harry’s a Mechanist. He can build anything—“

“That sounds neat,” Bucky cut in. “How does that work?”

“Damned if I know.” René shrugged. “Harry just touches spare parts and then comes up with whatever it is we need. It works pretty well. It’s like he thinks in blueprints.”

“I got a Cypher on my squad,” Bucky said. “Gabe is amazing with languages. Give’im a couple hours and a dictionary and he can speak to anyone. We’ve been real lucky to have him.”

“I’ll bet,” René said. “That’s how I feel about Tom. He’s a Charmer. No one else wanted him, not even your government. They were so afraid of what he could convince them to do.”

Bucky nodded. “Charmers scare the shit outta me.”

“Before I met Tom I felt the same way,” René said. “But Tom’s a great guy. I trust him with my life.”

Bucky made a face. “If you say so. I still prefer the Gifts of the fellas on my squad. Dum Dum’s a Strong Man. He’s the berries in a fight. Is your guy Neil like that?”

“Similar,” René said. “Neil is incredibly agile. I have honestly seen him dodge bullets.” 

“No shit!” Bucky grinned. “I’d love to see that!”

“I’d love to show you.” René grinned back. “Neil’s British, but he was a cop in Shanghai before the war. He learned some very interesting hand-to-hand fighting techniques there. He taught us a few.”

“So your team’s got a Brit and a Yank and three Canadians?” Bucky waited for René to nod before he continued. “How’d you find them all in France?” 

René’s mouth shut with an audible snap. He grimaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s like that, huh?” Bucky smiled. “You’d tell me but you’d have to kill me?”

René’s returning smile was rueful. “Something like that.” He shifted and grunted in pain. His leg was obviously causing him problems. But there wasn’t a damn thing Bucky could do about it. 

“You’re secret’s safe with me,” Bucky said. He gave René a sloppy salute. “On the honour of the 107th.”

“Thanks,” René said. He smiled. “Maybe I can tell you after the war’s over.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Bucky said. “Course, we still need to get outta here.”

René’s expression closed. “If only we could.”

“We will,” Bucky said forcefully. “We just hafta think of something.”

“Tomorrow,” René said. “We’ll figure it out then, but for now we should get some sleep.”

“Okay,” Bucky sighed. He knew René didn’t think they could escape but Bucky refused to give up. He gestured at his lap. “You lie down. I’ll keep watch.”

“It’s your turn—“ René started.

“Do it, or I’ll beat you unconscious myself.”

René rolled his eyes. “Tabernac.” He lay down. 

“Yeah, tay-bear-nak to you, too.” Bucky poked him in the shoulder. “What’s that mean, anyway?”

“It means the nuns would wash your mouth out with soap if they heard you,” René said. His eyes were closed. 

“We had nuns too.” Bucky smiled. “Mean bitches, ain’t they?” But René was already asleep.

* * *

They came for Bucky the next morning. 

René had no idea how much time had actually passed, whether it had been hours or days. The meals were infrequent and the sugar pills forced on him by Zola had worn off long since. Both he and Bucky were asleep when the guards came. 

Bucky was up and on his feet in an instant, charging at the guards with a desperate fury. René lurched to his feet, wincing as his wounded leg nearly gave out on him. But now his adrenaline was up, fueling his muscles and enabling him to act. He lunged at the nearest guard, using one of Neil’s fighting techniques in an attempt to take him down.

He made a fatal mistake. The guard’s weapon wasn’t just in his hands, but strapped across his shoulders. When René went for it he couldn’t pull it away from him. Instead he ended up being nearly jerked off his feet. The guard retaliated with a brutal kick to René’s injured thigh. He went down with a cry of pain.

Bucky now had two men on him, and even fighting for his life, there was no way he could take them both, not as weak as he was. One of the guards rang his bell hard enough to make Bucky stagger, and then it was over. 

They dragged Bucky towards the door. René grabbed at one of the guard’s ankles from where he was still lying on the floor, trying to trip him. He received a kick to the head for his trouble. 

By the time he came to, Bucky was gone.

René rolled heavily onto his back. He could tell that his leg was bleeding again by the warm wetness behind his thigh. His head ached, hard enough he suspected that without his Gift, his skull would’ve been caved in and he’d be dead. 

He placed his forearm over his eyes. “James was taken out of the cell by force,” he narrated. “My attempt to help him failed and I fear my failure may cost him his life.” He shuddered, his eyes welling with tears. “I’m forced to admit that, despite the brevity of our friendship, Bucky’s comradery has become exceptionally important to me. I no longer can see myself surviving in this cell alone.” René knew he was using his own voice as a way to distance himself from his experience. And this time, he didn’t try to stop it.

* * *

René must have fallen asleep because the next time the cell door opened he found himself on his knees before he realized he was moving. His leg ached horribly and his head was still painfully sore. 

He was ready to help Bucky, even if it meant another fight, but the only thing that happened was the delivery of another meager meal. 

René fell upon it like a starving animal, and only managed to pull himself away when he saw that he was about to consume Bucky’s portion as well. 

"Mon Dieu," he muttered, ashamed of his loss of control. Carefully, he put Bucky’s meal aside, and added the mouthful of bread he hadn’t yet eaten. If Bucky came back, he’d need it.

More time passed. The tepid soup had gone cold, a reflection of how cold the cell had become. René assumed it was because night had fallen, but without any access to outside he couldn’t tell. They never, ever, shut off the lights in the room.

Despite his worry and despite the chill, he fell asleep shivering. 

He woke up to the door opening and he got back on his knees as Bucky’s limp form was tossed in. Bucky landed hard, unmoving.

René waited tensely until the guards left before he went to his friend. 

“Bucky!” Bucky was bleeding from multiple wounds and René hesitated before he touched him. It looked like everywhere would hurt.

Bucky groaned, his muscles twitching like the after-effects of being electrocuted. It seemed that Zola had gone farther with his experimentation on Bucky than he’d done to René.

“You’re okay,” René said to him. “You’re safe now.” It was a terrible lie, but René had nothing else to offer. He gently rolled Bucky onto his back and pulled him over to the wall, groaning himself with the pain that the movement caused. He let Bucky’s head rest on his uninjured thigh, the way Bucky had for him and, just like Bucky’d done, he started carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair. 

Bucky couldn’t seem to stop shaking. “Hurts,” he moaned. He turned his head so his face was against René’s pant leg and he started to cry: A soft, aching sound that felt like it was stabbing through René’s heart. 

“You’re safe now,” René repeated, stroking Bucky’s back. “It’ll be over soon.” 

“Steve,” Bucky wheezed. “It hurts so bad. Help me? Steve, make it stop.”

René bit back a curse in his native French. If Bucky needed Steve, he’d oblige. “I’m here, Bucky,” he said. “I’m here. What do you need me to do?”

“Make it stop,” Bucky whimpered. “They musta beaten me real bad, Stevie. My Gift ain’t holding up. Can you get your mom?”

“She’s on her way.” René wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, still rubbing Bucky’s back with the other. “She’ll be here real soon. Just hang on.” 

“’Kay,” Bucky breathed. He shuddered again. “I love you.” 

René froze for a moment as he absorbed what Bucky had just admitted. Then started stroking his back again. René was shocked. But after a few seconds’ thought, he realized that he actually didn’t care all that much. In a place like this, anything that brought solace should be treasured, not condemned. He didn’t even know if Bucky would survive. In that light, whom he loved didn’t really matter. 

“I love you too,” René said.

* * *

Bucky came back to himself in stages. 

The first thing he realized was that he was lying on something soft. Then he realized it was someone’s leg, then he realized it was René’s leg, and he was in a Godforsaken cell in fucking Austria and he was still alive. 

_Damn it._

“How’re you doing?” René was looking down at him, his face creased with concern.

“I’m not dead,” Bucky said and then groaned as he sat up. “Kinda wanna be.”

“You kind of looked dead when they dragged you in,” René said. “I’m glad you’re awake. I was getting scared.” 

“How long was I out?” Bucky scrubbed his face with his hands. 

“A while,” René said. “Too long. You were talking, but not everything made sense. I was worried.”

“I was talking?” Bucky repeated. He grinned. “Haven’t talked in my sleep since I was a kid. Steve used to give me shit about it all the time. Did I say anything interesting?”

René looked pained. “Um.”

Bucky’s grin faltered. “What? Did I say something stupid?”

René’s expression didn’t change. He opened his mouth and then shut it again.

“Did I say something _embarrassing?_ ” Bucky asked. “Do I need to apologize?” 

René opened his mouth and shut it once more.

“You look like a fish,” Bucky said, worried now. “C’mon, spit it out. It can’t have been that terrible.”

“You thought I was Steve,” René blurted. “You told me you loved me.”

Bucky’s heart banged painfully in his chest. “Sure.” He tried for nonchalance. “I do love that little punk. Like a brother.”

René shook his head. “That’s not how you meant it.”

“And how would you know how I meant it?” Bucky said, hiding his panic with anger. “How’d you know I meant anything?” He heaved himself to his feet, wobbled, caught his balance and sidestepped René’s attempt to help. He started pacing, feeling way more trapped than he already was in the small space. René was his ally—his friend. If René turned on him because of what he’d accidently revealed Bucky would have no one. He felt sick.

René stood as well, limping towards him. “Bucky,” he said, and then “Bucky!” more sharply when Bucky refused to look at him. “You’re not understanding.”

“What’m I meant to understand?” Bucky spat. “You think I’m a queer!”

“I don’t _care_ if you’re queer!” René blocked Bucky’s path and grabbed his arms. “I don’t care if you love Steve,” he said again. “I care about what Zola will do if he hears it.”

That brought Bucky up short. “What?”

“Listen,” René said. “Okay, I admit, I was a little taken aback when I found out, but I thought about it, and I realized it doesn’t matter.” He raised his hand to stop Bucky’s protest. “To me, Bucky. _It doesn’t matter to me._ I lived in Paris, after all. And they’re more accepting of the different kinds of love than we are in Canada—or the U.S. too, I guess. But what does matter, what _will_ matter is if you start talking like that when you’re with Zola!”

Bucky’s head was filled with static like a badly tuned radio. He couldn’t seem to get what René was telling him. “I never meant to say anything about Steve at all. Who gives a fuck if I said anything to Zola?”

“Bucky!” René shook him. “You’re not hearing me! These are _Nazis!_ They _kill homosexuals!_ If he finds out, your Gift sure as hell won’t save you.”

Bucky swallowed. “Fuck me.” He ran his fingers through his filthy hair. “So, you think when I’m strapped to that fucking table, I might be spilling my guts? Oh my God.” The blood left his head so fast he got dizzy. “What if I already did?”

René’s eyes widened. “Did you?” 

“I don’t know!” Bucky yelled. “I don’t fucking remember!” he scraped his hair back and made an incoherent noise of frustration and fear. 

René put out his hands placatingly. “Calm yourself. They brought you back here instead of putting a bullet in your head. So—"

“So, so what? Maybe I _did_ say something and they’re gonna kill me!”

“They’re not going to kill you!” René shouted. “If they wanted to, you’d be dead already! That’s how they work!”

“Jesus,” Bucky swore. “Jesus Christ.” He whirled and started pacing again. 

“Stop it!” René said, grabbing him again. “Just stop it!” He took a deep breath. “You’re working yourself up over nothing—“

“It’s not _nothing!_ ”

“Over _nothing,_ ” René repeated. “You can’t have said anything. Nazis don’t go for mental torture. You know that. They’d have dragged your corpse out already.” 

“Okay.” Bucky forced himself to breathe. “Okay. I hear you.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “So, what do I do?”

“I don’t know,” René said. Then his eyes widened and he snapped his fingers. “Wait, I do.” He pointed at Bucky. “Dispatches!”

Bucky stared at him. “What?”

“You know how I sometimes talk to myself?” René said, when Bucky nodded he continued. “I started doing that because—never mind why.” He waved his hand. “I do it because it keeps me from thinking of other things. Things I don’t want to think about.”

Bucky nodded quickly. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I see what you mean. They taught us to just give our name, rank and service number in basic in case we got interrogated. But because those Nazi fuckheads never asked me anything, I didn’t think of it. From now on that’s what I’ll do.”

“Excellent,” René sighed in obvious relief. He sagged against the wall and slid down it to sit on the floor. “I’d hate for something to happen to you.”

“Same here, pal.” Bucky sat down beside him. He patted René’s leg. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” René said. He looked at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “So, does Steve know?”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s not like it’s ever come up.”

“I guess it wouldn't.” René paused. “You should tell him.”

Bucky bobbed his head back. “What?”

“When you see him again,” René continued. “You should tell him. He deserves to know.”

“So he can know his best friend is a queer who’s been lusting after him for years?” Bucky shook his head. “No thanks.”

“So he should know how lucky he is to be loved by one of the finest men I've ever known,” René said quietly. “That’s why.”

“Oh.” Bucky blinked. He licked his lips. “You know, you’re the first person I ever told. Even by accident.”

“I’m honoured.” René smiled. “Even if it was by accident.”

Bucky smiled a little in return. He took a deep breath. “Chances are I’ll never get to tell Steve anyway. The war sure ain’t ending any time soon.”

“It will end, one day,” René said. “You can tell him then.”

Bucky bit his lip. “Maybe.” He sighed. “But we gotta live that long.”

“We will,” René said with certainty. “We’ve got people waiting for us.”

“Sure,” Bucky said. “Okay.”

* * *

“Try again.” 

Jim glared at Monty from where he was pacing the short distance across the cage. “I _am_ trying, you fucking Limey! What’d you think? I can make my Gift work different than it does?”

“Pipe down!” Dum Dum hissed. “You want the fucking Krauts to know what you’re up to?”

“I want Monty to get off my back!” Jim spat. “Like I told you, I don’t know them! I can only find people I know. Capice?” 

“You met him!” Monty insisted. “René was in the cage with you! He saved your life!”

“Yeah, and it was a deep and meaningful two minutes. But if I can’t pick ‘em out of a crowd, I can’t find ‘em with my Gift.” Jim shrugged. “I’m sorry. He was a good guy. I wanna find out if he’s alive too. But I don’t know René from Adam.” 

“What about Sergeant Barnes?” Gabe asked. “He’s pretty distinctive.”

“I. Never. Met. Him,” Jim said as if there was a period between each word. “What part of _I never met him_ are you meatheads not getting?”

“I’ll describe him to you again,” Gabe offered eagerly. “Dark hair, blue eyes. He’s actually pretty good looking—“

“By all the bloody saints!” Monty burst out. “You’ve described your bloody sergeant so many times I’m sure _I_ could find him! At least Jim held René’s hand.”

“It was his wrist. Two weeks ago!” Jim barked. “If I could've found him from that, I would've! Give it a rest already!” 

“Why ain’t your lucky Frog working for you?” Dum Dum asked Monty. “I thought his Gift was a miracle.”

Monty narrowed his eyes. “He’s not a bloody rabbit’s foot. He needs food and rest for his Gift to work, just like all of us.”

Dernier nodded his head miserably as he stood leaning against the bars. “I ‘ave been try,” he said. “But my Gift, she is not work for this.”

“Maybe they’re dead,” Gabe said softly. “Maybe that’s why Jim can’t find them—“

Dum Dum cuffed the back of his head. “Don’t give up on Barnes like that.”

“I should've just blasted everyone,” Diego said mournfully. 

Monty glowered at him. “You've also said that every day for the past two weeks. You can’t go back in time, mate. It’s enough now.”

Jim nodded his head. “That’s what _I've_ been saying. I can’t find either of them. I’m sorry.”

Diego sat down on the blankets that had been shoved into a pile. “So what’d we do now?”

“We wait,” Dum Dum sighed. “And we hope.”

Monty took Dernier's wrist and Jim’s hand and joined the two men together. “And we try one more time.” The look he gave Jim brooked no argument.

“Fine.” Jim rolled his eyes. “I guess you don’t care if I die from exhaustion.” He turned to Dernier. “Okay Lucky Strike, let’s see what you got.”

“Maybe the two-hundredth time is the charm.” Dum Dum grimaced.

“Remember,” Monty said, “René is French-Canadian. White, brown hair, hazel eyes, about six-foot tall, medium build, handsome—“

“Yeah, okay, I got it. You can date him when the war’s over.” Jim closed his eyes. “Now let me concentrate.”

"Moi aussi," Dernier added. “Maybe this time she work.”

“Fingers crossed,” Gabe said, holding up his hands to illustrate.

Jim licked his lips. Beads of sweat were forming on his temples just below the band of his knitted hat. He frowned. “Hey—maybe…What’s the name of your sergeant again? Is it like Lucky, or Ducky something?” 

“It’s Bucky!” Gabe cried. He immediately looked around to ensure none of the guards had heard him, then leaned closer to Jim to whisper, “Did you find him?”

“Think so,” Jim said, sounding like he could barely believe it. “I think I’ve found René, who’s with Bucky. They’re together.”

“They’re both alive?” Dum Dum said just as Monty sagged against the cage bars. 

“Oh thank God,” Monty breathed.

“Are they okay?” Diego asked. 

Jim scowled without opening his eyes. “They’ve been taken to the Isolation Ward. How the hell do you think they are?”

“But they’re alive,” Dum Dum said again. “Barnes’s alive.”

“So far,” Jim said. “But that’s all I can tell ya.” He let go of Dernier’s wrist and both of them sat down heavily. 

“Now I am tired,” Dernier said, wiping at his forehead.

“No fooling.” Jim nodded. He looked at Monty. “But I found ‘em, all right? They ain’t pushing up daisies yet.”

“Thank God,” Monty said again. “I feared the worst.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too overjoyed there, ace,” Jim said. “They’re both in a bad way. I can tell that much.” He took off his cap to run his fingers through his sweaty hair. “René feels…I dunno. Sick, or something. His head’s like…” Jim waggled his fingers by his ear. “Noise. And he’s real worried about Barnes.”

“Fuck,” Dum Dum sighed. He glared at the cage door like he could burn through the lock with his eyes. "And we’re stuck here all fine and dandy and we can’t do a damn thing.”

“The Sarge’s tough,” Gabe said, painfully hopeful. “He’ll get through this.”

“Sure,” Dum Dum grunted.

Nobody else said anything.

* * *

René wasn’t sure when he’d lost all sense of time, but at some point he’d stopped keeping track of when the guards came for him or Bucky. He was fairly certain that Zola alternated, but he couldn’t really tell anymore. His world had narrowed to fear and pain, and the sick weight of illness that seemed to have sunk into his bones. He was cold all the time, and so hungry he’d all but forgotten what it was like to be full. He kept startling awake without any knowledge of sleeping.

Even his narration couldn’t help him. He was too weak to talk to himself; too sick to maintain focus. It was ironic that he’d tried so hard to not lose himself in his own mind, and yet now it was all he wanted.

He and Bucky had started huddling together for warmth, sleeping with their arms and legs intertwined in a vain attempt to keep out the chill of the room and to gain a small bit of comfort from another warm body.

Bucky called him Steve almost all the time now, and René couldn't be sure if he’d started calling him Neil, or Harry or Tom, or even Aurora. He’d laugh at that idea—that he was so out of it he was calling a man ‘Aurora’—but nothing seemed funny anymore.

The cell door creaked open and René found himself jerking awake, pulling himself to his knees to go to his friend. His thigh burned with the harsh ache of infection, bad enough that it could barely hold his weight. Even if they managed to get free now, he knew he’d never be able to run.

Once again Bucky was a shivering mess. His Gift of Healing meant that he recovered better than René did from the experimentation, but he suffered more while he was enduring it. Not for the first time René wondered if it wouldn’t be kinder for them to just die and finally escape all this torture. 

_Aurora._ He knew he’d never give up as long as he thought she was alive.

He knew Bucky was staying alive for Steve. But René didn’t know how much longer he could.

Bucky was lying on the floor where they’d dropped him, trembling and crying from the after-effects of Zola’s poisons. Even with the force-feeding of the sugar pills, he was too thin and grey as death. He looked awful. In between Bucky’s hitched breaths, René could hear Bucky repeating his name, rank and serial number over and over again. 

René crawled over to him. “It’s okay,” he rasped. “You’re back now. You’re safe. You can stop talking.” Weakly, he stroked his hand through Bucky’s hair. His other hand was on the cold floor, helping him keep his balance on his hands and knees. “It’s alright.”

“No it ain’t,” Bucky gasped through his tears. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can,” René said, even though he felt the same. Carefully, he sat with his bad leg stretched out in front of him. “Come here,” he said, tugging at Bucky’s shirt until he shifted himself closer to René. “Put your head down.”

“No,” Bucky sniffed. “You’re in pain.” But he moved over and put his head on René’s thigh. “God,” he whispered. “This is fucking awful.”

“We’ll be okay,” René said. “We just need to hold on a little longer.”

“For what?” Bucky demanded. “We’re gonna die here. No one’s coming.”

“You don’t know that,” René said. 

Bucky pulled himself upright. He leaned heavily against René’s side. “I do,” he said. 

“No.” René put his arm around Bucky’s back, tugging him closer. “You can’t give up. I won’t survive without you.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. It hurts too much. I’m so tired.” He closed his eyes. René could feel the tremors still wracking Bucky’s body, the flesh too thin over his bones. 

“I won’t survive without you,” René repeated. He shook Bucky’s shoulders. “Don’t you dare give up on me.”

“You’ve got your boys, and Aurora,” Bucky murmured. “Don’t need me.”

“I do, you know I do,” René’s voice broke. “I won’t make it without you.”

“You gotta,” Bucky said. “’Cause I’m not gonna last much longer. You know it.”

“What about Steve?” René said desperately. “He needs you! Sickly boy like that, how’s he going to get through? You can’t leave him.”

“I already did,” Bucky said. “When I went to war. Don’t even know if he’s alive. Never answered my letters.”

“Then—then we’ll find him!” René said urgently. “After the war. You and me. We’ll go to New York and track down your fella. He’ll be so happy to see you. I’m sure he’s missed you even more than you’ve missed him.”

Bucky creaked out a sound like a laugh. “You think so?”

“Absolutely!” René said. “Certainly he’s missing you. He’s probably sitting in your apartment right now, looking out the window at the clouds, wondering where you are and counting the days until you’re home again.”

Bucky smiled. “I can see that. Probably has his sketchbook, charcoal all over his hands.”

“Of course,” René said. He licked his lips, worried. He didn’t like the distance that had begun to thread through Bucky’s voice, like part of him was already retreating from the world. He had to pull him back. “Bucky?”

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky whimered. “’M beat.”

“It’s René!” René shook him. “Bucky! Damn it!”

“René?” Bucky looked at him blearily. 

“I’m right here,” René said. “And I…” He ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to find something, _anything_ to tether Bucky to the world. “I need you to do something for me. Something important.”

“No.” Bucky rubbed at his eyes. 

“You can’t say no,” René said. “I need you to carry a message for me. To Aurora.”

“Do it yourself,” Bucky said. “I can’t. I’m not…” His eyes teared up again. 

“You’re the only one who can!” René insisted. “You’re the only one I trust. Please,” René’s voice wavered. “I need you.”

Bucky swallowed. “Okay,” he breathed out on the word. “Okay. What’s the message?” 

“This,” René said. He leaned over, gently took Bucky’s face in his hands and kissed him.

It was brief, and their mouths were closed, but René tried to convey all the caring and tenderness he felt for Bucky in the kiss. It wasn’t really for Aurora, it was to help Bucky stay connected. To give him a reason to want to survive. The message was for him.

To René’s surprise, Bucky opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, gripping René’s shoulders hard and pulling him closer. René followed Bucky’s lead, allowing him to take what he needed. Giving Bucky what he could.

It was strange to kiss a man. But not nearly as different as René had thought. The scruff around Bucky’s mouth caught on his stubble, and both their lips were chapped and rough. But otherwise, it was exactly like the last time he kissed Aurora. Sweet and desperate and tinged with sadness. 

When they finally broke apart, Bucky was smiling through his tears. “Give that one to Steve.”

René actually laughed from relief. He’d brought Bucky back. “You’d better give him that message yourself.”

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “It’s my message. If I don’t make it, you gotta give that to Steve. So he’ll know I love him. Like you said.” 

“You’ll make it!” René barked. “Stop talking like that!”

“But if I _don’t!_ ” Bucky said forcefully. “You gotta tell Steve. I don’t wanna die thinking he’ll never know.” 

“All right! Fine!” René growled. “But if I don’t make it, you’ll need to tell Aurora I love her. Promise me that right now.”

“But—“ 

René cut him off. “Promise me!”

Bucky glared, but then nodded. “I promise.” He held out his hand and they shook. He looked straight at René. “You know that don’t mean either of us’re gonna make it.” 

René held his gaze. “I know.”

* * *

“I knew I’d find you here.” 

Steve’s head shot up from where he’d been focused on his sketch pad. “Hi,” he said to Peggy, who’d just appeared behind him. He couldn’t believe how happy he was to see her, even if it came at the end of one of the worst performances of his short bond-shilling career. “What are you doing here?”

“Officially, I’m not here at all,” she said as she sat down on the edge of the stage, safely under the awning. The rain had been coming down persistently ever since Steve’s show ended, like the final moments of a tragedy. “That was quite the performance.”

Steve smirked humourlessly. “Did you Gift tell you it’d be terrible? Because I sure would’ve liked the warning.” 

She gave him a tight smile. “Unfortunately, there are so many terrible things occurring right now that your performance didn’t register with my Gift at all.”

“Sorry,” Steve muttered, chagrined. “Guess I deserved that.”

Peggy’s smile turned sympathetic. “You couldn’t know that your audience contained what was left of the 107th after Schmidt decimated them at Azzano. Only fifty men returned out of over 200. The rest were killed or captured.”

Steve felt his heart plummet. “The 107th?” 

That was Bucky’s regiment. Steve’s father had served with them in the Great War. It had been Steve’s dream to serve with them as well. When he couldn’t, Bucky did. Another kindness that Steve would never be able to repay. 

Steve had to go after him.

* * *

The trouble with being a POW was that it was a lot like being on the Front: Long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. 

Right now, they were in one of those long, boring stretches. They’d received their single meal of the day, lifted some heavy shit, built some other shit for fucking Hydra, and then been thrown back into their cages for the night, like a flock of fucking chickens. 

Jim sighed and stretched his legs out, which only succeeded in his boot bumping into Diego’s knee. Diego winced. The pussy. “I would fucking kill for a cigarette,” Jim moaned. “Why the fuck won’t they let us smoke?” 

“I would kill _you_ for a drink,” Dum Dum said. “The first thing I’m gonna do when we get outta here—“

“Take a shower? Because we’d all like that.” Gabe smiled.

Dum Dum opened his mouth to reply when the guard who was keeping watch above the cages suddenly fell along the bars, unconscious. 

Everyone stood up. 

There was a man standing on the ceiling bars with a leather jacket and a blue helmet.

Gabe stared at him. “Who’re you supposed to be?”

The man blinked. “Um. I’m Captain America.”

* * *

One of the soldiers that Steve rescued was a Telepath. His Gift was limited, but he said he’d still been able to sense the man who’d been taken to the Isolation Ward with Bucky. The two men had been there for at least six weeks, but the Telepath had only managed to make contact once, and that had been over two weeks ago. And he’d never sensed Bucky at all. 

“I’ll meet you guys in the clearing with anybody else I find,” Steve’d told them before taking off for the Isolation Ward. 

Now he was loping along the dark hallway, stepping as lightly as possible so not to alert any guards. He figured he could probably take them, but he had no idea how well this new body would heal, and he didn’t want a bullet to slow him down. He needed to get Bucky out first. 

He turned a corner, and there, just exiting a room was a little man in a fedora, carrying a coat and briefcase like he was heading home from the office. He ran before Steve could decide whether to go after him.

But the little man sure looked back at the room he’d left like it was breaking his heart to abandon it. Steve went in. 

There was someone strapped onto the stretcher, repeating a name, rank and service number over and over again. Steve’s heart lurched in his chest. 

“Bucky!” Steve ran to him and ripped the straps apart with his bare hands. 

“Is that…” Bucky looked like he could barely focus. 

“It’s me. It’s Steve.” 

“Steve?” Bucky said groggily, and then, “Steve!” And suddenly his eyes were clear like he’d just woken up from a nightmare.

Steve helped him up to his feet, Bucky gripping his biceps for balance. He wanted to hug Bucky so bad but they didn’t have time. “I thought you were dead!”

Bucky looked at him, confused. “I thought you were smaller.”

Steve could hear sounds of gunfire and explosions beneath the sudden blare of an alarm. “C’mon.” He half-carried, half-dragged Bucky from the room and into the corridor, heading back the way he’d come.

“Wait, wait!” Bucky said. “We gotta get René.” 

“Where?” The sound of the alarms was even louder in the hallway. Steve was sure the place was only seconds from being overrun with Nazi goons. 

“That way.” Bucky started pulling Steve in the opposite direction. “Down the hall.”

* * *

The bleating of the alarm startled René out of his revere. He’d been narrating again—he couldn’t even remember about what—when he suddenly found himself fully alert. 

His leg was throbbing, a hot aching mess of blood and pus that the Hydra scientist seemed disinclined to do anything about, even while he continued to inflict his unrelenting torture. 

But the alarm was sounding. That had to mean they were being rescued. He couldn't bear the thought of it meaning anything other than that. 

Painfully, he pulled himself to his one useful foot. His infected leg hurt far too much to let him do more than just touch his toes to the ground. In awkward, hopping steps he hobbled to the door. 

“Hey,” he shouted, pounding on the door with his fist. “Hey! There’s someone in here!” 

Without warning a gloved fist smashed through the glass by his head, grabbed on to the now-empty frame and heaved. The door wrenched off its hinges like cardboard. 

A second later, Bucky and a tall man in a blue helmet appeared in the empty doorway.

“René!” Bucky was incandescent with happiness. “This is my friend Steve!” 

René blinked. “I thought he was smaller.”

* * *

Fleeing the factory was exactly the kind of organized chaos that Jim Morita liked. 

“Grab the grenades!” he shouted at Dernier as they ran through the courtyard towards the gates. The fucking Hydra mooks were coming like crazy, vicious hornets swarming towards them with stingers made of blue light. 

“We’re gonna get fucking killed!” Gabe shouted before he, Dum Dum and Monty disappeared into a tank. Getting inside a big, armoured vehicle actually seemed like a really fucking good idea, and Jim turned to find one of his own—

And nearly collided with Diego. The kid’s hands were glowing. Just like his eyes. 

“What the fuck!” Jim screamed at him. 

“Getouttaway!” Diego screamed back as he raised his hands. He no longer looked anything like the young, uncertain solider that’d been in the cage. He looked like a weapon.

And he fired like one too, it turned out. There was a sound like…like something really fucking loud, and then half the approaching Hydra army was gone. Just like that.

“Mon Dieu! Putain! C’est incroyable!” Dernier shouted. His smile was maniacal in his glee. 

“Oh my God! That was fucking amazing!” Jim shouted. “Can you do it again?”

“Maybe?” Diego was grinning, but he swayed on his feet. “Mom, could I have a cookie first?”

“Jesus Christ,” Jim muttered, grabbing Diego by his jacket and tugging him with him. “If blowing your load meant you were gonna be this fucking useless—“ 

“M okay,” Diego mumbled. “Jus’ need a bit of time.”

“We don’t got time!” Jim snarled at him. “Pull it together!” They started running towards the gate, Diego in a half-lope as Jim practically dragged him along. Dernier was covering their six, having managed to get ahold of one of those rifles that fired blue light. It looked harmless, but damn did it blow shit up real good.

And then Dum Dum’s tank rolled out in front of them, clearing the way with more big fucking explosions. Monty was manning the turret and he used that fucking amazing blue cannon to blow the fuck out of the gate itself. Jim whooped in excitement, nearly dropping Diego.

Dernier scooped Diego’s other arm over his shoulder, keeping the kid from landing on his ass. Dernier pointed behind him. “La! Là-bas!” 

Jim whipped his head around. There, coming up behind them was that Captain America guy with a wild-eyed man running just behind him. And René was slung over the Captain’s shoulder like a French-Canadian sack of potatoes.

Dernier whooped and waved, nearly tripping both Diego and Jim. 

“Hey, fellas,” the Captain nodded to the three of them as he and Barnes ran past. The bastard didn’t even look winded.

* * *

“Hey,” Bucky said as he came to stand beside René outside of the pub. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered one to René, then lit René’s first before lighting his own. “I hear you turned down the opportunity to follow Captain America into the jaws of death.” 

René took a drag and then smirked. “I’ve got my own Captain to follow. Although he’s actually a Colonel.” He looked at Bucky through his lashes. “You know, we could always use another Yankee. I’m sure Tom would love the company.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I invite you, you invite me. We both know we’re heading in opposite directions.” He sighed. “I’m gonna miss you.” He exhaled a stream of smoke. 

“I’ll miss you, too.” René took another drag on his cigarette. “It’s hard to imagine not waking up every day and seeing you there.”

“You’ll have Aurora,” Bucky said. “I’m sure she’s a lot prettier in the morning.”

René smiled then leaned in close and whispered, “Steve’s certainly prettier than I am.”

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “Fuck off, Canuck.”

René took a final drag and then stubbed his cigarette out on the pavement with his foot. His leg was still stiff, but the penicillin he’d received had done wonders. That, and the decent food meant he was almost completely healed. The doctors said he’d be able to return to the field by the end of the month. He’d be in Canada by then, and hopefully in Aurora’s arms. 

He leaned towards Bucky again, holding Bucky’s gaze with his own. “Did you give him your message?”

Bucky looked away. “Ain’t the right time.” He finished his own cigarette and dropped the smoldering butt on the ground. “But I don’t wanna talk about that. I need to ask you something.”

René wanted to ask Bucky when he thought there could ever be a ‘right time’ in the middle of a war, but Bucky’s expression changed his mind. “You know you can ask me anything.”

Bucky nodded, looking around. “Not here.” He grabbed René’s arm and pulled him around the corner of the building, deep into the ally beside it. It was early evening and though it was much darker in the ally then it had been on the street, René could still make out Bucky’s features. 

Bucky reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small knife, unsheathing the blade. “Watch this.” He sliced the blade along his palm. The wound immediately welled with blood.

“Tabernac!” René grabbed at Bucky’s hand. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“No, it’s okay, watch.” Bucky held his hand out flat, the cut closing up in front of René’s eyes. In seconds all that was left was a smear of blood that Bucky wiped away on his pants. When he held up his hand again there was no sign he’d ever been injured.

René’s mouth fell open as he looked at Bucky’s hand, then up to his face. “Could you always do that?”

Bucky shook his head. “My Gift was good, but not that kind of good. Normally that would’ve taken hours, not seconds.” He hugged himself like he was suddenly chilled. “Now I’m healing as fast as Steve does. Maybe faster.”

“Isn’t that good?” René asked. 

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe? Problem is, I don’t know what else those fucking Hydra assholes did to me.” He took a breath. “Just makes me nervous, is all.”

René licked his lips. “I don’t know if my Gift’s changed.” He tried to smile. “No one’s hurt me recently.”

“I could hit you,” Bucky offered.

René laughed and then stopped. “You’re not joking.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t you wanna know?”

René winced. “Okay.” 

Bucky hit him, a solid punch across his jaw. 

René reeled back and would’ve dropped onto his ass if Bucky hadn’t grabbed him. “Calisse de tabernac,” he breathed, hand to his face as he stared wide-eyed at Bucky. “You nearly broke my jaw. How the hell did you almost break my jaw?”

Bucky was shaking out his hand. “That’s what I mean,” he said. “I think they made me like Steve.”

“So you’re a super solider now?” René knew his eyes were very wide.

Bucky bit his lip. “I guess?”

“Have you told anyone?”

“Other than you? No.”

René was still rubbing his jaw. “My Gift doesn’t seem to be any different than it was. But I don’t usually take hits that hard.”

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled. “Still don’t know my own strength.” 

“I can see that.” René put his hands in his pockets. “What’re you going to do?”

“Use it to help keep Steve safe.” Bucky’s smile was bitter. “And keep it secret so I don’t end up someone’s lab rat. Again.”

“Steve should know,” René said.

Bucky actually laughed. “Steve should probably know a lot of things I haven’t told him.”

“Don’t tell him about your new Gifts if you don’t want,” René said. “But at least tell him how you feel. He deserves to know.”

“He deserves a life with Peggy Carter. A _normal_ life. With someone he’d be proud of.”

“I know he’s proud of you,” René said. “You’re one of the finest men I’ve ever met.” 

Bucky looked down. “You said that already. It don’t change anything.”

“I said it before because it’s true,” René insisted. “Don’t decide for Steve what he does or doesn’t deserve. He deserves you.”

“And I’ll be there. Keeping him safe for Peggy for as long as I can,” Bucky said. 

“Okay,” René acquiesced with a sigh. “But you make sure you watch out for yourself, too.”

“Same to you, Canuck,” Bucky said. “Don’t forget you still owe me a tour of Montreal.”

René grinned. “How about this? The first day of August after the war’s over, you come meet me in Montreal at the Notre Dame Basilica. It’s a really famous church—“

“August?” Bucky interrupted, “why August?”

“No reason.” René shrugged. “Does there have to be a reason?”

“What if the war doesn’t end until September? Or January or something? How long you wanna wait?”

René laughed. “Fine then. Two dates.”

“Yeah.” Bucky smirked. “But not just any old dates. We’ll meet on July 4th. That’s Steve’s birthday.”

René raised his eyebrows. “Really? Captain America was born on Independence Day? Okay,” he continued when Bucky nodded. “So July 4th at the Basillica in Montreal?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said again, “but we still need another date.” 

“Aurora’s birthday,” René said. “It’s November 17th.” 

“Perfect.” Bucky snapped his fingers. “And if the war ends closer to her birthday, we’ll meet at the Empire State building. On the Observation Deck.”

“Excellent,” René agreed. “What time? Afternoon?”

“Eleven,” Bucky said decisively. “Then we can go for lunch.”

René laughed. “I like it. Montreal in July, New York in November, as soon as the war ends.”

“Deal.” Bucky held out his hand and they shook on it. “You know,” he said after a moment, “that don’t mean either of us’re gonna make it.”

“That’s what you said in the factory,” René said. “But we made it then.”

Bucky shrugged. 

René shrugged in return. “I have faith.” He smiled. “We just made plans.”

“So,” Bucky said into the lengthening silence. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow,” René sighed. “They want me back home for debriefing as soon as possible.”

“Debriefing, huh?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not just any old resistance fighter, are you?”

René grinned. “No. But—“

“I know, I know, if you told me you’d have to kill me.” Bucky’s smile turned sad. “I’m really gonna miss you, Canuck. Stay safe.”

René pulled him into a tight hug. “You too, Yankee, you too.”

* * *

“Brrrr!” Aurora wrapped her coat tighter around herself. “I think that New York is actually colder than Toronto!” Strands of blond hair blew around her face, loosened from her well-crafted up-do by the wind. Her brown eyes shone with happiness as she smiled at him. “Still, I can’t think of a better way to spend my birthday than being here with you.”

“I can’t either.” René put his arm around her as he pulled her close to him. “Being so far above street level probably isn’t helping with the cold though. We won’t have to stay here long, just long enough to meet up with my friend and then we can go for lunch.”

Aurora leaned into him. “Somewhere with a fireplace, I hope! I had enough of the cold when I was in France.”

René rubbed her arm, once again nearly overwhelmed with the fact she was actually there with him, that they’d both survived the war and were together. She’d only given him the briefest of descriptions of what their team had done during all the months he’d been missing and presumed dead, but he was so proud of how she’d been promoted to Sergeant after his loss, and how well she ended up filling his shoes. 

He hoped to get all her stories one day. Maybe after enough time had passed. Maybe after they’d all healed. 

“So, where’s your friend?” She checked her watch. “It’s five after eleven.” 

“He’ll be here.” René grinned. “He was the one who insisted on going for lunch afterwards. And I know he’ll be dying to meet you.”

“Well, I’m dying to meet him,” Aurora said. “You’ve talked about him so often…” She turned to look at a beautiful woman with dark hair and a commanding presence who’d just come on to the Observation Deck. “Oh, I love her hat!” 

René’s smile faded. “I think I know her.”

“It’d be hard to forget a girl like that,” Aurora said, watching as the woman started a slow promenade around the edge of the deck, clearly looking for someone. She looked up at him. “René?” 

He swallowed. “Something’s wrong.”

Aurora moved in front of him with studied casualness. “Do you need me to Hide us?” she whispered. “Or just to look like a different couple?”

“No, no,” René said, giving her wrist a comforting squeeze and then sliding his hand down to take hers. “You don’t need to use your Gift. It’s just that I’m not sure why she’s here.”

The woman was making her way over to them. She stopped in front of him, her brown eyes already sympathetic. “René Villiers?” 

He nodded, his throat suddenly tight. “You’re Lieutenant Carter. We met in London.”

“Yes, we did. I’m retired now.” She gave a small smile. “Please, call me Peggy.”

“Aurora Luft,” Aurora said, stepping forward and offering Peggy her hand.

“Pleasure.” Peggy nodded as they shook hands.

“Where’s Bucky?” René asked. “He was meant to meet us here.” The icy feeling in his chest had nothing to do with the winter weather.

Peggy took a breath. “I’m sorry.”

The air disappeared from his lungs as comprehension crashed down on him. “How—how did…?”

“It was on a mission in the Alps,” she said. “He saved Steve’s life.”

“Oh,” René said softly. He swallowed. “And his friend? Steve?”

Peggy blinked rapidly and shook her head. 

“Mon Dieu,” Aurora breathed. She moved to hold René’s arm, looking up at him. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “How?”

“Steve purposely flew Schmidt’s plane into the ice over Greenland,” Peggy said. “It was armed with massive bombs meant to destroy most of North America. His sacrifice saved millions.” 

“Both of them.” René covered his mouth with his hand.

“James asked me to meet you. After the war, if he couldn’t,” Peggy said. “You were always very important to him.”

René nodded again. His throat was too painfully tight to speak. 

“Thank you,” Aurora said to Peggy. “Thanks so much for meeting us here. That was very kind.”

Peggy’s smile was sad. “It was the least I could do,” she said. “Both James and Steve were very special to me.” She took a business card out of her purse and gave it to Aurora. “This is my contact information. Please don’t be intimidated by the address, Howard Stark is a friend of mine. I hope you’ll call me before you leave New York. I’d like to see you both again, perhaps under better circumstances.”

“Thank you,” Aurora said again as she took the card. 

René cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you, Peggy.” He took her offered hand.

“Please be assured that both James and Steve died the way they would’ve wanted.” Peggy’s dark eyes held his. “Don’t blame yourself for living when they didn’t.”

“I won’t,” René said. “I just wish they’d lived, too.” 

“I think we can both agree on that.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well,” she said briskly. “I’ll leave you two to the view, shall I?” 

Aurora and René murmured their goodbyes. René didn’t watch her leave.

“Are you alright?” Aurora said to him, switching to their native French. 

“I just need a moment,” he said, gently moving away from her. He went to the barrier and leaned his forearms on it, taking in the view of the East River and Roosevelt Island far beyond. The city seemed to stretch out forever under a clear blue sky. 

He breathed in the sharp chill of the air. “Adieu, mon ami,” he whispered. He covered his eyes with his hand and began to cry. 

He hadn’t felt the same need to distance himself with his narration since he’d been rescued from the Hydra factory. Reuniting with Aurora and his team had chased away most of the darkness that had been clamouring for his attention. He’d wanted to stay present. Every moment with Aurora was precious, and his team needed him there, fully and completely. He’d lapse sometimes, but Aurora knew, and she could always pull him back. 

But this—this was a pain he’d hoped to never again feel in his lifetime. Bucky was dead. He’d never get to be with him again. His mind started racing with all of the moments that he’d shared with Bucky: the long, hard weeks in prison and then their short time afterwards before they returned to their portions of the war. He started organizing his thoughts into sentences and paragraphs, as if he were about to dictate a report. 

“René.” He felt Aurora’s small hand against his back, her head leaning on his shoulder. “Were you writing something in your head just now?” 

He nodded. Wiping at his eyes. 

She pressed his arm, but didn’t say anything. Her quiet presence was comforting. 

It took some time, but finally René felt like he was able to dry his eyes. Aurora was looking at him, her expression one of calm sympathy. “You should tell his story, you know,” she said. 

“I’d like to.” He gave her a flicker of a smile. “Maybe someday.”

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he said to her. “I’m so glad I can tell you that.”

She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Come, let’s go somewhere warm.”

**Epilogue**

“What’cha looking at?” Steve said as he wandered into the living room. He was wearing the t-shirt and boxers he slept in, his hair a soft blond mess on his head. He was holding a large container of strawberry yogurt, eating it straight out of the tub with a spoon. 

“You’re not gonna put it back in the fridge like that, are ya?” Bucky said without turning around. Bucky was also still in his sleep clothes: soft drawstring pants and nothing else. The scar where his metal arm met his body was vivid and white. It was the only indication of how severe the injury must have been, to have taxed his healing Gift that much. 

“What?” Steve said around a mouthful. “I don’t have cooties.”

“You have spit. That’s gross.” Bucky made a face. “I don’t wanna eat your spit.”

“That’s not what you said last night.” Steve laughed as Bucky glared at him. 

“I’m trying to work here,” Bucky groused. “Stop distracting me.”

“Sure, Bucky,” Steve said, and promptly pressed a big smacking kiss to the crown of his head. 

“Ew!” Bucky swiped at his hair. “You’d better not have left yogurt there!”

Steve laughed again. “You need a shower anyway.”

Bucky scowled at him. “You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said fondly. He hooked another chair with his ankle and pulled it over to where Bucky was looking at the computer on the kitchen table. “Seriously,” he said as he sat down. “What’s got you so interested at seven in the morning?”

“History,” Bucky said. “From the war.”

“Oh,” Steve said softly, all humour gone. “You remembered something?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. He scrolled down with the cursor. “Well, someone.”

“Who?” Steve leaned closer to the screen, his yogurt forgotten on the table. 

“You remember the guy you rescued with me from the factory?” Bucky pointed at the screen. “René Villiers?”

“How could I forget?” Steve said. He shuddered. “That factory still gives me nightmares, Buck.”

“Me too,” Bucky said distractedly. He turned to Steve. “But you remember René?”

“Of course. He was the guy with the infected leg,” he said. “I had to carry him out.” 

“That was rugged,” Bucky said. “Fuck, I hated that place.”

“He went back to Canada after our furlough in London,” Steve said. “Whatever happened to him?”

“That was the question that woke me up at five this morning,” Bucky said. “Turns out, he survived the war.”

“That’s great!” Steve said. “You guys got pretty close in Austria. It’s good to know at least one of us made it back.”

Bucky nodded. “He married that girl of his, Aurora. They had three kids.”

“Where are they? Maybe we should visit. Introduce them to the legend that is Bucky Barnes.” Steve smiled. 

“René said he was originally from Montreal,” Bucky said. “Looks like his grandkids’re still there.”

“Would you want to go visit them?” Steve asked more seriously. “Montreal isn’t far.”

Bucky bit his lip. “I dunno,” he said. He turned to look at Steve. “What would I say?”

“That you knew their granddad during the war. That he was a hero.”

“I’m sure they already know that,” Bucky said. “At least they should.” He gestured at the screen. "Look at this. He wasn't just a resistance fighter--he was a fucking spy! He went to some spy training place in Ontario called 'Camp-X'. Never said a damn thing about it, 'cept how he'd have to kill me if he did, and here I am reading about it on his Wikipedia page."

Steve chuckled. “I bet Natasha would’ve loved him. I barely met him, but he seemed like a great guy.”

“It’s stupid.” Bucky’s voice dropped. “But I was thinking about him, and how we made plans to meet after the war. I’d been looking forward to seeing him in Montreal. But he’s dead. He died back in ’98.” He looked at Steve. "You know, Hydra took so many years from me that sometimes I forget that other people lived entire lives. I actually figured I could just pick up the phone and call."

Steve rested his arm around the back of Bucky’s neck. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Everyone we knew is gone. It’s been one of the hardest things I’ve had to deal with, waking up here.” 

Bucky covered Steve’s hand with his own. “I don’t think I would’ve survived the factory if it hadn’t been for him.”

“You never told me what happened in that factory, Buck,” Steve said. “I’d really like to hear it.”

“Not much to tell,” Bucky said. “Did you know he wrote a book about me?”

Steve knew a subject change when he heard one, but he decided to let it go. The fact Bucky’d remembered his friend was more than good enough for one day. “Was it called ‘Comrades in Hell?’” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, turning towards him. “How’d you—“

“I have it!” Steve jumped off the chair and jogged to the bookshelf. He grabbed it and put it triumphantly into Bucky’s hands. “’Comrades in Hell: The life, death and legend of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes and the Howling Commandos.’”

Bucky looked at him then at the large book in his hands. “I could kill someone with this.”

“I guess he had a lot to say about you.”

“Huh.” Bucky flipped open the cover. “You read it?”

“Every word,” Steve said seriously. “It was about you.”

“Sap.” Bucky grinned at him.

“Jerk,” Steve grinned back.

“Punk.” Bucky flipped the page, looked at it, then up at Steve. “Did you know about this?”

Steve leaned over so he could see what Bucky meant. “You mean the dedication?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “You ever look at it?”

“I read every word, like I said,” Steve told him. He read it out loud. “ _To my friend Bucky. The finest man I’ve ever known. I hope you gave him the message._ I always wondered about that,” Steve mused. “I mean, tell who? And what was your message?” 

“Tell _you_ , you dumb punk,” Bucky replied. He carefully put the book on the table and stood. “And the message was ‘I love you.’” And then he kissed him.

END

**Author's Note:**

> (You can find Taste_is_Sweet's [Tumblr here](http://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/), or check me out [here](https://about.me/aundreasinger). ♥)


End file.
